


Watching

by basaltgrrl



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl





	Watching

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/gifts).



Sam watches Gene in the morning, before he wakes.

Gene sleeps with abandon, half his face pressed deep into the pillow until Sam’s not sure how he can breathe, his chest flat on the mattress and one hand—the one closest to Sam—palm up on the sheet, fingers curled into a paw like a gorilla’s.

He can not be said to be beautiful.  He’s stubbly and crazy-haired.  His breath, which Sam can smell from a distance, is not sweet.  His heavy, pock-marked cheek catches the morning sun unevenly.  He reeks of a long day at the office, cigarette smoke and sweat and ink and just the hint of gunpowder.

All this, and Sam tortures himself by watching when what he wants to do is press the entire length of his body against Gene’s furnace heat, slip fingertips into the divot of his spine just above his briefs, touch lips to the back of Gene’s neck under the curl of hair.  He wants to run his hands through the hair, stroking and taming it with his fingers until Gene hums with pleasure.  He wants touch; he wants any kind of touch, and he wants a lot of it, hours, until their bellies growl with hunger.  

But he holds himself apart.  The light grows, pale purple shadows flow across the ceiling.  Sam breathes, and watches.  He thinks about what Gene would do if he pressed a kiss to his cheek just now.  He thinks about getting up, going downstairs and making coffee, bringing a fragrant cup back up to the bedroom.  He thinks about eggs, and whether there’s enough milk.  He thinks about a bath.

He wants to let Gene wake on his own schedule.  He watches Gene’s twitching eyelids and wonders if it’s a dream.  He wonders if Gene is his dream.  He smiles wryly.  After the months and months of agony and angst and fighting this time seems like a dream… this peace, this calm.  He would never have been able to imagine it.  And of course all is not calm; there are still murders and crimes.  There are still disagreements.  There are still times when Gene makes his blood boil and he wants to march out and never come back.

But then there are other times.  Mornings like this, when Sam can’t believe he has ended up owning something so absolutely fulfilling.  He doesn’t know how or why this works so well—only that it does, and that he’s happy.  Happy to watch this thug sleep, snoring and groaning and stealing the covers. 

Gene grunts, smashes his face deeper into the pillow and then rolls onto his side.  He cracks his eyes open, and he heaves a huge sigh.  Sam waits.  And Gene smiles that ridiculously happy grin that Sam has seen only on rare occasions, the grin that makes him look like a different kind of person altogether.  It’s like he’s a goofy kid who just found his favorite toy.

“Sammy.”  The gorilla paw reaches out to cup the side of Sam’s face, slips behind his ear and pulls him closer.  “Mmm,” hums Gene just before their lips meet, soft and exploratory.  The kiss lingers, and lingers, and lingers, and Sam floats.

When they break apart Sam makes a little sad noise, and Gene’s eyes crinkle and his dimples reappear.  “Merry Christmas,” he growls, low in his throat. 

“Merry Christmas, Gene,” Sam answers, and his hand strokes down Gene’s arm and lower.  “What have you got for me?”

“Same present every morning, Sammy.”

“It’s all I want.”

And they laugh, because they both know it’s true.

 


End file.
